Stakeout
by Higurazel
Summary: Thiefshipping  Yami Bakura X Malik . A seedy motel! Surveillance! Explosions! Supermarket-bought sandwiches! But still not enough for Malik...


The slam of the door brought Malik out of his light slumber. In an instant he was sat upright, head swivelling to the doorway. Bakura stood with a plastic carrier bag in one hand, a scowl plastered across his face.

"Sleeping?" His voice was dripping with venom, "You do understand how surveillance is supposed to work, yes?"

Malik responded with a dismissive wave of his hand, collapsing back on the motel bed. "If anything important had happened, I would've woken up." A sandwich, wrapped in plastic sailed into his line of sight and landed heavily on his nose.

"Dinner's on me," Bakura muttered, reaching into the carrier bag for his own meal. He slumped into a nearby chair, unwrapping the sandwich and tearing into it readily. His gaze travelled from the meal, to Malik, and then to the mobile phone propped up on the windowsill, pointed out into the night air. "And what the hell is this?" He asked, mouth full of meat and bread.

"Surveillance." Malik muttered, "Since you won't shell out for any of the good recording equipment, I have to make do with what I have."

Bakura picked up the phone and flung it at his companion, parting the blinds a little more and glaring outside. Completely dead. Not a single person was down in the courtyard or hanging outside of any of the rooms. For that matter, none of the other rooms seemed to be inhabited.

"Maybe they went somewhere else?" Malik offered, as if reading his thoughts.

"Maybe you should keep quiet and eat." Bakura shot back, fingertips drumming on the desk surface. "No, they'll be here all right. I trust our contact."

"I'm glad _someone _does."

"They'll be here."

"And if they don't show up?"

"Then we have a restless night of wondering, followed by a long day of car journeys."

Malik groaned, tossing the wrapper of his sandwich down the side of the bed. "Somehow you've managed to make the most exciting job in the world turn into a massive bore. Where are the Trillby's and big coats and jazz clubs?"

"This isn't a film noir, it's a stake-out." Bakura clenched his fist. "A lot of this work is just sitting and watching. I told you that when we started. And you still insisted on being a part of it."

"Well of course I did. What else did you expect-"

Bakura cut him off with a quick hand gesture, shifting his weight in the chair. "Someone's coming." He whispered, reaching out and switching off the light. In the courtyard, a car swung into view, idling for a moment before its lights dimmed and its engine stopped humming. Two men made their way out of the vehicle. Talking, but Bakura couldn't quite make out what about.

"Is it them?" Malik asked, clutching the bedsheets.

"Without a doubt." Bakura watched as one of the men pulled a heavy-looking sack from the trunk of the car, and started making his way to an upstairs room opposite. The other finished a cigarette before following.

"Are they armed?"

"Can't tell from here," Bakura sighed, "But put yourself in their position will you? Almost a million dollars worth of portaits gets stolen, you make your getaway, hole up in a motel... Would you keep a gun on you?"

"Of course."

"Well there you go then."

"Keep to the plan?"

"Keep to the plan."

* * *

><p>Malik didn't make a noise as he dropped down out of the rear window of the motel room. He swung himself over the barrier and landed neatly on the ground floor, half hidden in the fake bushes. He skulked through the undergrowth, sticking close to the walls and shadows, wanting to make sure the newcomers didn't see him. They probably had access to their own surveillance equipment. Something better than a phone camera. He would have to hammer home his budget complaints with Bakura later...<p>

After a few minutes of stalking from one piece of cover to another, he finally reached the lone car. An old, beaten up model, rust clinging to almost every curve. Malik tsked under his breath, bringing out a lockpick and making short work of the flimsy trunk lock.

His face lit up as he beheld the treasure trove within the car. A veritable fortune to the right person, just sitting there, ripe for the taking. But then, taking it wasn't what he was here to do. He muttered a few passive-aggressive curses to himself as he reached into his satchel and pulled out the container of thick, grey plastic. Some sort of plastic explosive that Bakura had picked up from one of his many "contacts". Malik got to work rigging the back of the car with it, trailing some underneath, attaching it to the fuel lines.

His work complete, he started scampering back, trying to stop himself from chuckling. Bakura was waiting for him, heavy bag in either hand, motioning for Malik to make his way quickly to their own car.

* * *

><p>Though they were almost a full four blocks away, the sound of the explosion was devastating. A plume of bright flames punctured the sky, shrapnel raining down, pieces of shredded vehicle littering the landscape.<p>

Malik turned back from watching the explosion, pouting at Bakura. His eyes fixed on the road ahead, it took a while for the silver-haired driver to take notice of his companions sulking expression.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked, unable to hide the disinterest in his voice.

"It's just... If we'd taken it. You know, stolen it from them, we could have sold it on and made a fortune!"

"We're already going to make a fortune." Bakura told him.

"You mean with the clients fee?"

"I mean when we sell this art on to the highest bidder." He reached back and patted one of the bags on the backseat. "I don't care how many cameras and bugging tools they had in that car, it wouldn't have been worth as much as these portaits, trust me on this."

"I guess you're the boss." Malik muttered, wondering exactly when he had gotten so bored with the idea of being an Art-thief.


End file.
